Tonight And The Rest Of My Life
by La Vie Boheme96
Summary: Buffy and the Scoobies help James Bond solve a mystery he doesn't realize is out of his hands. CHAPTER 8!
1. Building A Mystery

Story Title: Tonight and the Rest of My Life  
  
Author: La Vie Boheme96  
  
Chapter Title: "Building a Mystery"  
  
Author's Note: This is a story I posted a long long time ago on this site, and then took down because I never had any time to update it. I'm starting to find the time to work on it again, and so now it's resurfaced! I've tweaked it here and there since its debut. I hope those of you who've seen it before still find some sort of pleasure in reading it, and that those of you who are brand-new like what you see! Thanks so much, and I'll be back real soon with more.  
  
  
  
"Tonight And The Rest Of My Life"  
  
  
  
"Good evening, James!"  
  
James Bond flashed his employer's secretary the most disarming, most dashing of smiles. "Good evening, Moneypenny," he replied.  
  
Moneypenny's primary focus was on her computer screen. She typed and spoke to James simultaneously. "M is waiting for you in her office," she said.  
  
"I see. Tell me . . . why are *you* never waiting for me?"  
  
Moneypenny's hands stopped flying across her keyboard. She peered at James over the rims of her glasses, which were perched quite low on her straight, narrow nose. The suave secret agent looked back at her innocently.  
  
"Because I know better than that," she told him.  
  
"I'm hurt," James smiled.  
  
With that, the corners of the secretary's mouth turned up ever so slightly. The man's charm was nothing less than sorcery, and tonight Moneypenny found it impossible to resist. Normally she was able to match wits with him without caving, but that night he looked so ridiculously handsome and sophisticated that even she had to admit defeat.  
  
"Everyone is always waiting for James Bond," she sighed. "How does work ever get done?"  
  
"I won't keep you from yours," he said. The grin did not disappear. "Thank you, Moneypenny."  
  
She watched him walk down the corridor to M's office until the wall prevented her from doing so.  
  
Like anyone else who knew him well, Moneypenny believed it no waste of precious time to wait for James. His missions were often dangerous and deadly beyond comprehension, and he had toyed with death more times than anyone could keep track of, but he always came away victorious. More importantly, he always came back, and completely intact. Any wounds he sustained were always negligible, no matter how many explosions and bullets he'd been forced to escape. To regard him as a mortal man was an oft- lethal mistake.  
  
James opened the oak wood double doors at the end of the corridor to find M sitting behind her desk, shifting through a thin stack of papers. She looked up as he took a seat in one of the two chairs that were situated on the other side of the desk.  
  
"Good evening, James," she said.  
  
"M," he said, with a nod of his head. M's voice was not as grave as in incidents past, *and* she had not addressed him by his numeric identification, so he assumed that the director of the British Secret Intelligence Service was not holding papers that detailed an enormous threat to national security. In fact, she looked almost baffled, an unusual occurrence.  
  
"It's rather distressing, James," she said, eyeing the papers and rubbing her chin.  
  
"Surely you don't think I'll be distressed by anything you tell me."  
  
The exasperated sigh to which James had become so accustomed surfaced rather early, indicating that M was in absolutely no mood for his cavalier attitude. The inevitable stern rebuttal quickly followed: "I know that your emotions have been deadened by women and martinis, 007, but do make sure it doesn't get in the way of your doing your job."  
  
Although M's remark was particularly caustic, even her for, in response James wore the smile of a little boy enormously proud of the elaborate piece of artwork he had scrawled on the dining room wall in crayon. He certainly did not apologize. Instead he humoured M by regarding his impending case more seriously. He straightened in his chair and cleared his throat.  
  
"You were saying?" he offered.  
  
"Thank you," M said, not waiting for that apology she knew would never come. "It appears that an English plane carrying a priceless jewel has vanished over southern California. And by vanished I don't mean it crashed, or it was shot down . . . it simply disappeared without a trace. It's gone."  
  
M paused for a reaction, and James looked puzzled.  
  
"Is that all?" he ventured.  
  
"As of late this morning--Pacific Time in the United States--two pilots and the Karlotte family diamond are missing. The plane was not over water when it dropped off radar, and the Americans who are looking into the case have found no wreckage in the areas their computers have hinted at. That's all the information we have that will help at this point."  
  
James was radically perplexed, and he said to M as more of a fact than a question, "You're not putting *me* on the case."  
  
"Two of your countrymen are missing, James, and there is no evidence that they are dead. I am asking--"  
  
"I'm a secret agent, M, not a private investigator!" James snapped. "Q is not providing me with million-dollar cars equipped with rocket launchers and navigation systems so I can find a couple of petty thieves who pulled a get-rich-quick by stealing the Karlotte diamond--!"  
  
"007, if you do not keep that miserable ego of yours under control, you may not be around *long* enough to destroy another of Q's BMWs!" M hissed, leaning across the table toward the forever-arrogant agent. James stared back at her as if challenging her.  
  
"You wouldn't fire me," he said in a low voice.  
  
"Wouldn't I? I've never been one to back down on a promise…or a threat. I'd do it just to see the look on your face." She paused again, perhaps for dramatic effect. "Are you quite finished now?"  
  
James sank back in his chair, looking infinitely indignant.  
  
"Don't talk to me like I'm a child, M," he muttered.  
  
"Well, don't act like one. After the Trevelyan and Carver cases, you should be relieved that I'm handing you such a simple assignment. I thought you might consider it a break."  
  
"It's just humiliating that you would misuse me this way."  
  
M almost smiled. Almost.  
  
She plucked a sheet of paper up off her desk, let her piercing eyes skim over it, and said, "Hmm. You may get to see some action after all, 007. It would appear that the Karlotte diamond is believed to have some sort of mysterious power. Mystical or practical, I haven't a clue, but perhaps something similar to the Goldeneye. If someone did indeed steal it, he or she or they may be using it for some harmful purpose."  
  
James sighed to express his skepticism.  
  
In all truth, M was amused by the reaction her words were eliciting, careful not to allow her icy demeanor to betray her pleasure. She had once told James to his face that she did not like him, but it simply was not true, for it was well known that they respected each other to a great degree. Sometimes it was hard to show it because they frequently made one another so angry that they could not express themselves the way they meant to. When M had accepted this job she had expected absolute obedience from the rest of her staff, but she quickly realized that there was no ordering around the smug, rebellious Commander James Bond. He always got the job done--there was no question about that--but as soon as he got his assignment he obeyed no one's rules but his own. That was fine with M, as long as his missions were successful. And they always were.  
  
"Queen and country, James?"  
  
He looked at her languidly.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Then I'm sending you to Los Angeles, and from there you will be directed to a small town called"--she consulted her papers--"Sunnydale, where the plane appears to have gone down. You'll be ever so happy to know that Q should indeed have a car waiting; do check in with him before you leave. Moneypenny will make all the necessary travel arrangements. I want you to recover the missing pilots and the plane, if you can, and also the Karlotte diamond. Find out who took it, if anyone, and why, and what they were planning to do with it."  
  
James rolled his eyes.  
  
"'What they were planning to do with it'?" he repeated. "Mystical powers…it's a jewel heist, plain and simple." Intensely disappointed, he added, "Nobody has any standards anymore."  
  
"All the same, 007."  
  
"What could anyone possibly want with it? It's just--"  
  
!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!  
  
"--simply amazing," fretted Rupert Giles, staring with an expression of alarm at the computer monitor in front of him. "The most bizarre and frightening threat to Sunnydale I fear we've ever faced."  
  
The Slayer, the Chosen One, former valley girl Buffy Summers, rolled her soulful blue eyes.  
  
"You don't say," she remarked. Unshaken, she went back to examining the contents of her bulging bag of weapons.  
  
"Really, Giles? You mean it this time?" added Alexander LaVelle Harris. "I hope you're not scared, Willow, because this could be the big one!"  
  
"Nope," said Willow Rosenberg. She dipped into the box of doughnuts that Xander had so dutifully purchased before arriving at Giles' Sunnydale home late that afternoon. "No blood curdling here."  
  
Giles looked over his shoulder at the three young people sitting around the coffee table in his living room.  
  
"Would you rather," he said grimly, "I be more original and say we could all be dead in the blink of an eye if we let our guard down for even a moment?"  
  
Willow, Xander, and Buffy stopped what they were doing and looked up. The first said, "Okay, blood slightly curdled."  
  
"What's going on?" Buffy wanted to know.  
  
"I think you should all take a look at this." Giles waved the three over to the computer. When they were comfortable in chairs, the newly reinstated Watcher continued.  
  
"Have any of you ever heard of the Karlotte diamond?" he asked, using the mouse to point to the picture of it on the monitor.  
  
Buffy and her friends replied in the negative.  
  
"It belongs to a very wealthy, very prominent family in England," Giles went on to explain. "It's been touring the world as part of an exhibition of rare jewels. A British plane was flying it from a museum in Sydney to the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, D.C., when it disappeared . . . directly over Sunnydale."  
  
Xander raised his eyebrows, unsure of what to think.  
  
"Demons taking a new approach to home decorating?" he offered.  
  
"If only it were that simple," muttered Giles. "The Karlotte diamond has long been thought to have other-worldly powers."  
  
"Evil powers?" Buffy assumed.  
  
"If it falls into the wrong hands, yes. In capable hands it can be used to control peoples' thoughts and make them see things that aren't really there."  
  
"R-Really?" stammered Willow, looking even paler than usual.  
  
"I'm afraid so. Once one has the diamond, a complicated ritual is performed and one can enter the intellect of any person and tamper with their mind's eye so that they are faced with some sort of illusion they think is real."  
  
"And I'll bet a bright, shiny penny it's not skies of blue and leaves of green," said Xander.  
  
"Is this really a gigantic threat?" Willow asked. "I mean . . . it's not an end of the world thing, is it?"  
  
"To be honest, there's always a possibility. Such a power can be used for any number of purposes; if put to clever use it could cause massive amounts of damage."  
  
"Do you think Glory's behind it?" asked Buffy.  
  
"Unlikely. Glory is only interested in the Key. I doubt that she would waste her time on such frivolity."  
  
"I'd like to reach that plateau where I too can consider potential Armageddon frivolous," Willow mused.  
  
"Oh, my God," breathed Buffy. "Giles, this is huge . . . why didn't you tell me sooner?"  
  
"I only found out an hour ago."  
  
"So why didn't you tell me an hour ago?"  
  
"I didn't want to fri-- . . ."  
  
Giles looked back at Buffy. He was about to say, "frighten you," but as the words were leaving his lips he realized how marvelously foolish they were.  
  
"There's simply no excuse," he finished.  
  
"How long ago did the plane go down?" Buffy demanded. She got up out of her chair, snatched her bag of weapons, and placed it down on the table on the other side of the living room. She was starting to take charge. Xander and Willow faithfully followed in case they were needed.  
  
"I think there's a newspaper on the table there," Giles said, pointing.  
  
Willow helpfully consulted ~The Sunnydale Times~.  
  
"It says the plane fell off radar . . . 'very early this morning at about two or three'-"  
  
"Very early this morning?" Buffy exclaimed. "Two or three?" Then she swore. "That was over twelve hours ago! The diamond could be anywhere by now!" She angrily zipped up her bag of weapons and hoisted it onto her shoulder.  
  
"Where are you going?" said Xander.  
  
"I'm gonna find that Karlotte thing before someone else does."  
  
"Now?" moaned Willow. "But I'm supposed to be your study buddy tonight!"  
  
Buffy halted and half-smiled. It was sometimes hard to believe that the two of them were already in college.  
  
"Will," she said, "saving the world stands a few steps above my GPA in The Grand Scheme Of Things. If you remember, we had a very long, very heated discussion about this."  
  
To Giles, she courageously said, "I'll get the diamond. Even if I have to give some nasty lectures on stealing."  
  
"All right, then. I'll be at the magic shop later tonight if you should need me. I don't doubt that you'll be careful," Giles said, "but don't trust anyone; the Karlotte diamond is extremely dangerous. If used against you it will be impossible for you to tell what's real and what isn't."  
  
"Diamond or not, that's something I ask myself every day," Buffy said. After a little pause, she added,"Thanks, Giles." With that, she sailed out the door and onto the streets.  
  
"Well, FINE then!" Willow called after her. A moment passed; she sighed, and said, "I wish *I* could do that. I wish *I* could just walk out on my study buddy and be all like, 'Grr, I have a mission, and nobody can stop me, psych test be damned'!"  
  
"I don't think they're called study buddies anymore," said Xander. "In college I think they're referred to as listen-to-me-vent-my-frustrations- then-watch-some-weepy-chick-flick-with-me-and-give-me-an-excuse-to-do- anything-BUT-study buddies."  
  
Willow shrugged her shoulders.  
  
"What are buddies for?" she said.  
  
"Hanging out here with ol' Xander and doing research?" he said hopefully.  
  
"Sorry," Willow pouted. "I *really* need to do well on this test. Are you staying?" she added, draping her messenger bag on her left shoulder.  
  
"Er . . . nah, I think I'm gonna get out of here," said Xander. "Wait for me outside; I'll be there in a minute."  
  
"Okay, sure. Bye, Giles! Thank you."  
  
"Good night, Willow," Giles said as she left. He sounded pensive and just a tad absent-minded.  
  
Xander picked up the half-empty box of doughnuts, the only prop that had accompanied him to Giles' house.  
  
"Well, G-Man, I'd better motor," he said. "I'm gonna go see Anya and fill her in on the Karlotte situation . . . maybe I'll be doing a little buddy- studying of my own."  
  
Xander realized what he'd said and immediately stopped speaking; sometimes, and mostly in the presence of the very British, middle-aged ex-librarian, he went a little too far and dispeled too much information regarding his relationship with his girlfriend Anya.  
  
When the young man almost ashamedly turned to go, Giles said, "How do you do it?"  
  
Xander stopped and turned around.  
  
"Do what?" he inquired.  
  
Giles removed his glasses, as if that would somehow make things clearer. "How do you stay so calm? How do you so willingly concentrate on other aspects of your lives when certain doom lurks on the horizon?"  
  
Silence filled the room. It briefly seemed like Xander would not be able to answer the question, but then he said something so profound that it warmed the hearts of both men and blanketed them with a comforting feeling of infinite security.  
  
"Because with Buffy out there, doom is never certain."  
  
  
  
!~!~!--...to be continued...--!~!~! 


	2. Excuse Me Mister

Story Title: Tonight and the Rest of My Life  
  
Author: La Vie Boheme96  
  
Chapter Title: "Excuse Me Mister"  
  
Author's Note: Not too much to say... except THANKS for the reviews, and enjoy chapter two!  
  
  
  
Great, Buffy thought bitterly as she tramped through the streets of Sunnydale, underneath the starless early-evening sky. This is exactly what I need to be worrying about right now. 'Guess what, Buffy! Glory's a god! But you're gonna have to put that on hold for now, because you have to play treasure hunt! Sure, sure, Glory is a being with strength that you can't ever begin to comprehend, and don't even WORRY about the fact that you aren't within fifty miles of a clue as to how to fight her! Just keep your mind focused on the damned DIAMOND!  
  
Then Buffy Summers pondered, for perhaps the thirteenth time that day, what it was like to be normal.  
  
At around seven o'clock, she reached a heavily wooded area of the little town that sat atop the mouth of hell. Always alert, she went deeper into the forest until she came to a strip of yellow police tape that was wrapped through the surrounding trees in such a way that it blocked her path. She rolled her eyes, ducked under it, and continued on her way. As if that was going to stop her.  
  
The boys from the precinct, Buffy observed, probably went home for the night, because there was not a soul to be seen. As for those *unseen*, they were everywhere, having lost their way to either heaven or hell. (The hell-bound spirits, Buffy would be glad to say, did not have very far to travel.) She hoped the roaming spectres would give her some clue as to where the diamond was; frustrated, she surveyed her environment and saw nothing but bushes, plants, and trees. Any other passerby would never be able to guess why the area was blocked off by police tape.  
  
"Wow," muttered Buffy. "This is like fun, only the exact opposite."  
  
"Hey!" a rough voice shouted from somewhere behind her. Buffy whirled around to see a man in an official-looking uniform approaching her at an angry, quick pace, and the Slayer put on her best innocence act.  
  
"Sir?" she said. She looked around, secretly to be certain that no one else was in the area.  
  
"You're not supposed to be here," the large man barked, stopping a few feet away from Buffy, crossing his arms over the impressive width of his chest. "This is an official crime scene."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, the official *police tape* should have given me some sort of hint."  
  
"You're already in trouble, kid, don't press your luck." He glanced down at the bag under Buffy's arm, at the corner of the broad ax that poked out of the end corner. The sharp edge piqued the man's curiosity. "Let's see the goods, little girl."  
  
"You wish."  
  
Buffy's foot connected with the man's head and a second later he was sprawled on the forest floor. No harm was done; Buffy had performed that move multiple times on multiple people, and she used not to inflict injury but to buy time if the victim was unintelligently trying to prevent her from doing her job. She had given up trying to explain her Slayer gig long ago. It wasn't that she enjoyed knocking innocent people unconscious. It had just gotten to the point where she had to.  
  
She made the most of her time and more closely scrutinized the region for anything that even remotely resembled a pilot, a diamond, or a plane.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, not far away, on the other side of the small patch of forest that Buffy investigated, James Bond was about to encounter a similar--if slightly more serious--interruption.  
  
He advanced cautiously through the towering trees, wearing a pair of tinted designer sunglasses that allowed him not only to see in the dark, but also to detect the body heat of any creature--human or otherwise--that might be trying to hide in the brush. The glasses were all well and good, and James thought he looked rather striking in them, but he was waiting for the chance to use the missiles that were behind the headlights of his new BMW, parked none too far away. However, remembering the details of the incredibly tedious case he had been assigned, he thought such a prospect highly unlikely. It was unethical and just plain ungentlemanly to use a missile launcher on jewel thieves.  
  
"Going somewhere, pretty boy?"  
  
James stopped in his tracks, and grinned to himself. Finally . . . a little excitement. He drew his gun in case he needed to defend himself and turned around to address the gravelly male voice that came from behind him, but the British government agent produced no glib remark, for he was quite frankly stunned by what he saw. The man he now faced was as sky-blue as the rest of the trees and bushes around them, and just as cold.  
  
No body heat.  
  
In the next few seconds before the attack, the man's dark eyes turned a gleaming, feral yellow, and two razor-sharp fangs grew down over his bottom lip. He hissed horribly and leapt at the bewildered James, knocking him to the ground. Now trapped beneath the creature with his arms pinned at his sides, having lost his gun, James had no choice but to head-butt the thing. Their skulls cracked together, and the creature, taken by surprise, rolled away into the grass. James ignored the pain and scrambled for his gun. He grabbed it, jumped to his feet, spun around, flicked off the safety, and fired a bullet squarely into the recovering creature's throat.  
  
James had expected the thing to die instantaneously. However, it simply stopped for a moment, dazed, and then rushed at him again, angrier than ever.  
  
"Oh, my God," James gasped. He quickly shoved his gun back into its shoulder holster and grabbed the charging creature by the collar of its jacket, and slammed it up against the trunk of a tree. In retaliation it whapped at James' face with its taloned hand. The sharp nails caught no skin, but instead removed James' expensive sunglasses. They fell silently to the dirt. Taking advantage of the agent's momentary distraction the creature, with all its remarkable force, buried its feet in James' stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Before he knew what had happened he was once again on his back and at the mercy of this awful thing. Triumphant, it bared its hideous teeth and prepared to bury them in James' neck. Agent 007 closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, unable to believe that this was the end.  
  
But suddenly, the creature roared in pain and exploded into a spray of gray dust.  
  
James opened his crystal blue eyes to see a young girl bent over him, her own eyes filled with boundless worry and concern.  
  
"Shit!" she cried. "Oh, my God, mister, are you all right?"  
  
Confused beyond all comprehension, James did not reply. The girl knelt down beside him and studied his entire body, apparently checking for injuries or blood. As she did so, she brushed the dust off his suit.  
  
"Are you hurt?" she asked loudly.  
  
"Wh-wh-who are . . .!" James sputtered.  
  
"Can you stand up? Here, give me your hand."  
  
The girl took James' hand and pulled him to his feet.  
  
"God, I'm so glad I got here in time," she puffed, her hand over her heart. "I heard the gunshot, and I just ran . . . I didn't think I'd ever be able to find you . . . okay, enough with the babbling brook. I'm Buffy."  
  
James didn't hear her. In fact, he didn't even seem to be listening to her. He searched the grounds around them for his gun and his sunglasses, oblivious to the fact that his life had just been saved.  
  
"Ahem."  
  
James turned to acknowledge Buffy, and she held a small gun and a pair of tinted sunglasses out towards him. He looked indignant, like he didn't appreciate the fact that Buffy had touched his things without asking. Yanking the objects away from her, he flicked the gun's safety switch back on and put it away in its holster, and placed the glasses in the left breast pocket of his suit jacket.  
  
He cleared his throat and said, almost coldly, "Thank you, Miss . . ."  
  
"Buffy," she said again. "Didn't you hear me the first time, or were you too busy making sure no one had taken your toys?"  
  
"Buffy?" smirked James. Honestly, he thought. Where do these names come from?  
  
"Um... excuse me? I just saved your life! If I didn't make it here in time you would've been vamp chow! A simple 'thank you' would make my day, because it sure as hell hasn't been a good one!"  
  
James frowned, and his eyebrows knitted together.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" he said. Then he eyed the wooden stake that Buffy clutched in her hand.  
  
Buffy followed his gaze and said, "Oh, crap. You're from outta town, aren't you."  
  
"I work for the British government," James said, straightening his necktie. "The name's Bond. James Bond."  
  
"Um . . . okay, Bond James Bond," Buffy said, unimpressed. "You prefer all of that, or do I just call you James?"  
  
"James will do, thank you very much."  
  
"Great. So what brings you to here?"  
  
"Classified information, young lady, that I'm not at liberty to divulge."  
  
"Please. Don't 'young lady' me. I'm nineteen going on forty-eight." She paused, and when James said nothing, she continued. "So if you're a spy," she said, "shouldn't you be out gratuitously blowing up buildings and motor vehicles or thwarting evil counterfeiters and their big, white Persian cats?"  
  
James was exasperated. "I'm here on business," he said, as if addressing a lower form of life. "And if you must know, I'm looking for a stolen diamond. That is all I can say."  
  
Buffy perked up.  
  
"The Karlotte diamond?" she asked, interested.  
  
"Yes. I suppose you've heard news of it locally."  
  
"Uh-huh. Well, I'm looking for it too. Maybe I could help?"  
  
James smirked again. "You? Adorable. Well, I suggest you go home, put on your jammies, and go to bed; this is a case better left to professionals, little girl."  
  
There was the "little girl" again, twice in one night. Buffy was now decidedly irate. She had listened to authority figures talk to her this way all her life, and she was absolutely sick of it. All of her frustrations began to pour out when she confidently said, "Maybe it's okay for you to treat people that way back in jolly old England, but there's a lot you don't know about Sunnydale, smart guy. Not to sound . . . well . . . like you, but I'M the only professional around here. The cops, the FBI, the CIA . . . they're all on the outside looking in. They wanna play *my* game when they don't even know the rules."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"What do you think that thing was that almost ripped your neck open? Huh?"  
  
"Obviously some drunk man with--"  
  
"It was a vampire! They're real, and they're EVERYWHERE, and I kill them with these!" She held up her stake for James to see. "Ever seen one of these? In the movies, I guess, right? Bet you never thought some people actually have to use them every day of their lives. I don't know what they call your clubhouse over in the motherland, but I think you and all the other suits like you fall into the category of pompous, overstuffed jerks who think they know everything! Well, you don't. Not by a long shot."  
  
James stared back at her without emotion.  
  
"I think you're insane," he said.  
  
"Fine. Think what you want. All I want to do is help you."  
  
"I don't need help from anyone."  
  
"This is Sunnydale, pal. New game plan, new set of rules. This town has the highest mortality rate of any other town in the country, and it's the idiots like you who turn into a statistic. You're the ones we have memorial services for every month. Some of those people were innocent . . . didn't deserve what they got . . . but you're the ones who make their own graves and sleep in them. I have information about the diamond, and information that'll keep you alive, but if you don't want it, I don't really care. We'll see how well you do when you run up against another 'drunk' guy." As she stomped away from him, she said, "I'll be looking for your obituary in the paper."  
  
James just stood there dumbfounded. No one had EVER spoken to him that way before, save for M, and not even her words had been so harsh. This girl-- this Buffy--was a highly admirable individual, not to mention most intriguing. Clearly she knew something that he did not, and having to admit this was like subjecting his ego to a vat of acid. Maybe Buffy WAS telling the truth, and maybe she was as crazy as any of the criminal masterminds James had faced over the course of his career with the British Secret Intelligence Service. Either way, there was no question that she was fascinating, and James would not let her get away from him so easily.  
  
"Wait!" he called after her.  
  
Buffy impatiently and abruptly stopped in her tracks, raising her eyes heavenward as if pleading for divine assistance.  
  
"What do you want?" she huffed.  
  
"Well, I . . . exactly what KIND of information?" 


	3. Closing Time

Story Title: Tonight and the Rest of My Life  
  
Author: La Vie Boheme96  
  
Chapter Title: "Closing Time"  
  
*Author's Note: For your general information (there's been some confusion!), I have the striking Pierce Brosnan in mind for Bond as I'm writing this story. ^_^ *  
  
  
  
The bells that adorned the Magic Box door jingled merrily, signaling the arrival of Buffy and James. The drive from the forest to the local magic shop had been excruciatingly silent, and Buffy was grateful for the presence of people she could actually bear talking to for more than five minutes.  
  
Giles sat behind the front counter, his elegant nose--as usual--trapped in a book. Anya, Xander's exceptionally blunt girlfriend, was seated next to the Watcher, manning the cash register, and had been ready to fall asleep before Buffy and James showed up. The ringing bells pried Giles away from his book and ended Anya's flirtation with slumber.  
  
"Well hello, Buffy," the Watcher said. He looked at James. "A friend?" he inquired of the Slayer.  
  
"Oh. Yeah. We're like this," muttered Buffy, making a wide "V" with the index and middle fingers of her right hand. "Bond James Bond, this is Rupert Giles. That's Anya. She--and I use this term loosely--works here."  
  
"Hi! You're very pretty," Anya said, pumping James' hand vigorously.  
  
"Ah . . . a pleasure, miss."  
  
James and Giles also greeted each other with a handshake, and the former said, "Good to meet you, Mr. Giles."  
  
"Likewise, Mr. Bond. I prefer just plain Giles."  
  
James in turn welcomed Giles to call him by his Christian name.  
  
"So why have you decided to grace the Magic Box with this man's company, Buffy?" Giles asked curiously, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
"BJB here was attacked by a vamp," Buffy said. "I got there in the nick."  
  
"Yes," James said, casting her a sidelong glance. "The young lady indeed assisted me in my trouble, and for that I'm very grateful, as I've already told her."  
  
"Sure," snorted Buffy. "Nothing says 'thank you' like . . . *not*. . . saying it."  
  
"Really? She saved you from a vampire?" said Anya, leaning forward on the counter, her head in her hands. "Did you cry?"  
  
"Certainly not."  
  
"Anya," scolded Giles. "Now . . . James, you're clearly not a native, so may I ask what brought you to California?"  
  
"I'm a British government agent," James explained, "and I am on a mission to recover the Karlotte family diamond."  
  
"Oh . . . oh, yes, I see," Giles said, nodding his head in realization.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy chimed in. "I say we find the diamond as soon as possible and get them BOTH on a plane and out of the country. Emphasis on 'as soon as possible.'"  
  
"Buffy, do try to be civil." Giles turned back to James and said, rather solemnly, "Are you aware that the Karlotte diamond possesses certain powers?"  
  
"My supervisor informed me of that myth, yes."  
  
"Sadly, it's no myth. Would you care to take a seat, James?"  
  
"Yes, thank you very much," James said, sliding into the chair that Giles offered him. As Giles was going to close the store up for the evening, Anya leaned forward on the counter again and said, "Hey, boss? Are you locking up? Are we closed?"  
  
"Yes, Anya. In light of the circumstances, I feel that I shouldn't carry on business for the--"  
  
"Great! I was getting antsy to go, considering the zero customers and everything." Anya gathered up her coat and her bag and came out from behind the counter.  
  
"Where're you going?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Over Xander's place. He came over earlier, but I told him I had to work. ME, working! Actually having to earn a living! One of the unfortunate side effects of being a stupid mortal."  
  
James raised an inquisitive eyebrow.  
  
"Yeah, so I'm gonna go see Xander," Anya said, heading towards the door. "We'll hang out, maybe have some coffee, *definitely* have some sex--"  
  
Giles gave Anya a gentle shove towards the door. "That'll do, Anya. Goodbye. Good night. And be careful!"  
  
He locked the door behind her.  
  
James let his breath out in a puzzled whoosh. "Simply delightful," he remarked.  
  
"Yes," said Giles. "God help me."  
  
Just then, a voice unmistakably that of a young girl rang out from the back room of the magic shop: "Hey! Who are you guys talking to?"  
  
Buffy, surprised, looked to Giles. "Dawn's here? What is Dawn doing here?" she asked.  
  
"Ah . . . yes, well, due to the information we've received about Glory, the Council and I thought it would be good for your sister to be under some sort of protection whenever possible. And considering that Joyce will be working until later tonight, she asked if I would be so kind as to keep an eye on her."  
  
Another voice from the back room filled the store, this one male and very heavily British: "Keep it down, niblet, I'm tryin' t' take a kip!"  
  
Buffy again looked to Giles. "And SPIKE is here?" she said in a sharp, accusatory tone.  
  
"Ah . . . as I said, protection."  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "So how much did you have to shell out for the Undead Babysitting Service?"  
  
Giles cleared his throat and avoided Buffy's eyes. "I asked for his help very nicely, and therefore no money was exchanged."  
  
The Slayer looked very carefully at Giles' face as he spoke, and her own face elongated in jubilant surprise. "Oh, my God!"  
  
"Yes, yes, let's not discuss it, because hello, Dawn!"  
  
Dawn Summers, Buffy's fourteen-year-old sister, came flouncing into the room wearing a curious expression.  
  
"Hey. What's going on?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, God," moaned James, obviously vexed at the idea of children hanging around.  
  
"Excuse me, do you have a problem?" Buffy snapped at him.  
  
"Actually, yes. I have a problem with my time being wasted! If we could kindly carry on, I can solve this case and be blessedly rid of you!"  
  
Dawn curled her lip and looked at James. "Ew. What's your deal?"  
  
"Please," Giles broke in. "James is right. Let's put all hostile feelings aside and find this wretched diamond."  
  
"And exactly what diamond would this be?" said Spike, casually sauntering in behind the front counter, a cigarette dangling from his lips. While he waited for an answer, he took his metal lighter out of his pocket, flipped it open, and lit the cigarette.  
  
"Spike, I asked you not to do that in here," said Giles, as though speaking to a young son.  
  
Spike sucked the smoke down into his dead lungs and blew the excess out into the store. "Why don'tcha ask me as nicely as y'did last time, Rupert?" he growled, rubbing his throbbing jaw. Spotting James, he asked, "And who's this, all dressed up with somewhere t' go?"  
  
Buffy obliged. "James Bond, let me introduce my sister Dawn, and Spike, a murderous vampire that I should have staked a long time ago."  
  
Spike frowned, and James looked at him skeptically.  
  
"Once again, with the vampires," the secret agent said, his comment directed at Buffy. "I ask you, miss, what exactly are you trying to accomplish with this charade?"  
  
"Oh, I get it now!" Spike said in an abrasive, sarcastic tone. It was painfully clear that he did not like James at all. "Mr. Gucci Shoes 'ere doesn't b'lieve in vampires. Well, I'll tell y'what, fancy boy, if I didn't 'ave this bloody chip in me cranium, I'd show ya . . . ."  
  
Dawn glanced at him quickly. No one saw her smile.  
  
Giles smartly cut Spike off. "The first thing you need to realize before we go any further," he said to James, "is that Sunnydale isn't quite like any other town you've been to."  
  
"I've been told," James interrupted, glancing at Buffy. He looked amused. "And why is that? The vampires?"  
  
The ever-impatient Spike, already fed up with this stranger's suspicions, motivated himself to put the intruder in his proper place. He put his cigarette down in an ashtray, picked up a small compact mirror that Anya must have left behind, and went to kneel down beside the chair that James was seated in.  
  
"All right, Jim, let's take a look at that pretty mug o' yers, eh?" Spike held the mirror up so that James' face was reflected in it. "It's a beauty, ain't it, guv? Now let's check out ol' Spike, who, mind you, is equally attractive, if not more so." Holding the mirror at arm's length, he moved it away from James and to the left, toward himself. He passed it right by his head, and all James saw were the shelves, the walls, and the wares of the back of the store.  
  
James' brows furrowed, and the corners of mouth were pulled slowly downward by the weight of understanding. All the legends and stories he'd heard growing up about vampires flooded back to him…the evils he faced on his routine missions were unspeakable enough, but to think that these creatures of the night actually walked the earth was virtually incomprehensible. Spike was still admiring his non-existent reflection, when James looked back and forth between Giles and Buffy.  
  
"So…it's true," he said, very quietly.  
  
"Give the man a cookie," Buffy said sarcastically.  
  
Instead of getting angry, James just stared at the girl.  
  
"Who are you?" he murmured.  
  
"I am SO confused right now," said Dawn.  
  
Spike got to his feet and retrieved the cigarette that sat burning in the ashtray on the counter.  
  
"Tell ya what, lit'l bit," he said to Dawn, taking what was the last puff on his cigarette. He stamped the butt out on the counter, right next to the ashtray, secretly hoping that Giles had been watching. "What say you an' I go out fer a walk about town."  
  
Speaking for Dawn, Buffy said, "No!"  
  
"Why not?" the younger Summers complained.  
  
"Because I don't trust him with you," Buffy said, looking pointedly at Spike.  
  
James just watched them argue, still thoroughly overwhelmed by the information he had just received.  
  
"Christ, Goldilocks, what in bloody hell d'you think I'm gonna do to 'er?" bickered Spike. He tapped his platinum hair as if to remind her. "I'm still all fish 'n' chips up 'ere, remember?"  
  
"Buffy, you probably don't want to hear this," Giles put in, "but I do believe it would be for the best. After all, we have rather urgent business to attend to."  
  
"Uh-huh. Business as usual," Dawn said corrosively. "Whatever! They NEVER want me around, Spike." She stomped off to the back room to fetch her coat.  
  
"I know th' feelin', Dawnie," Spike said, partly to Buffy.  
  
She glared hard at the demon. "You'd better protect her with your pathetic, worthless life," she snarled, "because if anyone lays a finger on her I'll kill you a hundred and fifty times before you hit the ground."  
  
Spike looked back at her. His delicate features were devoid of expression; it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.  
  
"We'll go out th' back door," he said. He sounded almost offended. With that, he stalked off and headed to where Dawn was waiting for him.  
  
"I just don't understand," James said as if apologizing, when Giles and Buffy had at last taken their seats.  
  
"There's a LOT you don't understand," said Buffy, at once both malicious and sympathetic.  
  
"Well, ah, l-let's get started then, shall we?" Giles offered. He opened a book and pushed his glasses further up onto the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Please," said James.  
  
  
  
!~!~!-- to be continued... --!~!~! 


	4. Sympathy For The Devil

Story Title: "Tonight And The Rest Of My Life"  
  
Author: La Vie Boheme96  
  
Chapter Title: Sympathy for the Devil  
  
A/N: I'm so sorry that it's been so long since I've updated... school ended not too long ago, and even without its inherent hassles I've been doing a lot of running around lately and haven't had even slightly enough time to write! Hopefully, that will all change in the coming weeks. Thanks for hanging around, and I sincerely hope that you're still enjoying the ride!  
  
  
  
"Why does she never want me to know ANYTHING?" sighed Dawn as she walked past one of Sunnydale's larger, more expansive cemeteries with Spike. She kicked a rock that had foolishly gotten into her path, sending it skipping out into the silent street.  
  
Spike's empathy was authentic. He took a long, comforting drag on his cigarette and said, "I know what ya mean, niblet. Seems like when all ya wanna do is lend a helpin' hand, she pushes you away. 'I got it covered,' she says. 'Lookit me, I'm th' bleedin' Slayer! I don't need anybody! Lemme stand 'ere and toss my hair fer a minute b'fore I go skippin' out t' slay all th' beasties bumpin' in th' night! I 'ope I don't get blood on me pretty new dress!'"  
  
Dawn laughed at Spike's voice, a high-pitched, mocking impersonation of Buffy. She believed that his words rang all too true. "She always acts like, you know, 'The world's a better place because of ME, and don't you forget it!'" she said.  
  
Spike grinned, puffing on his cigarette. "Some peoples' egos're just outta control, aren't they?"  
  
"Not *yours*, though," Dawn said. "I mean, you must've killed hundreds of people, right?"  
  
He glanced at her, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Uh . . . well... yeah!" he exclaimed, trying to sound cool.  
  
"And you don't go showing off in front of all the other vampires, telling them you've murdered probably over a thousand innocents, right? It's just a walk in the park for you. Well . . . it *was*."  
  
"Oh, yeah. I mean, you shoulda SEEN the way I . . . uh . . . yeah, Dawnie . . . All that's in th' past, where it b'longs," Spike said, giving up the ruse in favour of telling the truth. "I dunno what's gonna happen if I ever get this chip out, but fer now I'm just a big loveable puppy, if ya know what I mean. I can't see why I'm the only one willin' to accept that." He took in another lengthy draught of cigarette smoke.  
  
"I *wanna* accept that," Dawn said shyly, "but Buffy won't let me. She's always telling me stories about you."  
  
"She is, eh? Bet they don't end with '...and ev'rybody lived 'appily ever after.'"  
  
Dawn grinned sadly and shook her head. "Nah . . . more like '...so that's why I want you to stay away from him.'"  
  
Spike stopped, finished with his cigarette. Dawn walked a few steps beyond him, and then she too came to a halt. She turned around, and Spike dropped the cigarette butt to the ground, stomping it out with the toe of his boot. He looked back up at her.  
  
"Lit'l bit," he said slowly, "you don't think I'd 'urt you, do ya?"  
  
Dawn folded her arms across her chest and looked briefly down at the sidewalk. "Well . . . I don't know," she said truthfully. "Obviously you CAN'T, but if you didn't have that chip . . . I'm . . . I'm not sure I'd feel safe."  
  
"Dawn, whatever she tells you I'd do t' you, I'd never do it."  
  
"Buffy tells me you just say things like that because you're trying to score 'brownie points'. That's what she calls 'em. She says you're just trying to get in good with the gang, and she . . . and she doesn't want you."  
  
"Oh, of COURSE!" Spike shouted exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in the air, turning away from Dawn. He stared at the ground with his hands on his hips, the whiteness of his skin sharply set off by the black leather of his trenchcoat. "Cripes, I guess it's bloody impossible fer ol' Spike t' have feelin's fer somebody, right? I guess it ain't normal fer me t' genuinely enjoy somebody's comp'ny, eh? Nah. Nah, I always gotta have some evil ulterior soddin' motive!"  
  
"Spike, please don't get mad," Dawn said timidly. She knew what his temper was like, and the idea of him getting angry frightened her.  
  
Spike dejectedly looked at her over his shoulder and read her face. "Don't be afraid o' me, Dawn," he muttered. "I don't deserve it."  
  
Dawn sheepishly, gradually walked to where Spike was standing and took a hold of his arm. She hugged it tightly and buried her face in it.  
  
"You're nicer to me than Buffy ever was," she said, her voice muffled by leather. "I wish she wasn't so mean to you."  
  
The vampire looked down at her, taken off guard by her show of affection. Thinking back on his long life, filled with evil and depravity, he never thought that anybody--especially a child--would take to him that way. He thought he could never be good, that it was beyond him. And yet . . . there was that little girl, clinging to his arm, silently begging him to provide her with the emotional support she claimed her own sister could not.  
  
Frankly he didn't know how to handle it.  
  
"Buy you a pint at the Bronze," he offered.  
  
Grinning up at him, Dawn said, "How 'bout a Coke?"  
  
Spike nodded.  
  
"Suit yourself then," he said as the two resumed their walk. "But if I had a sister like yours I'd wanna go out an' get trashed ev'ry night o' my life." 


	5. Looking For Changes

Story Title: "Tonight And The Rest Of My Life"  
  
Author: La Vie Boheme96  
  
Chapter Title: Looking For Changes  
  
  
  
A soft, healthy green glow surrounded the Karlotte family diamond, and a pair of equally bright eyes peered jubilantly into the light. Her face was reflected in each of the jewel's thousands of tiny, mirror-like facets. She could feel its power as though it were her own, and the sensation delighted her like little else ever had. Granted, wildly expensive designer clothes and shoes had a hold over her that not even she would ever fully comprehend.  
  
With a smile that rivaled the radiance of the stone before her, she straightened, resting her hands upon her hips.  
  
"I'll tell you what, boys," she said. "Nothin' I like more than a brand- new toy. We'd better be careful with this one... warning label says if misused it can cause serious injury or death. We wouldn't want that, now... would we?"  
  
***  
  
James stood at the main entrance of the Magic Box. That door . . . those panes of glass . . . only they separated him from the hellish world that had just been described to him. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his head was bowed towards the floor. For once he was speechless. He'd just heard the most mind-blowing story of his life, and he had nothing to say. He just stared at his boots, the shine having been dulled from his leisurely "stroll" in the forest.  
  
"Hey," Buffy said gently, getting up out of her chair to stand behind him. "Are you okay?"  
  
"I had no idea," the man said to his shoes. "This . . . *all* of this is true?"  
  
"I wish it wasn't."  
  
James lifted his eyes to stare out into the blackness of night. "And all of it falls onto your shoulders? You face it alone?"  
  
In the glass, he saw Buffy's reflection shake its head. "No," it said. "I'm lucky. I have friends, like Giles . . . they help me. I don't think I'd be alive if not for them."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Do you have people like that?" the reflection asked.  
  
James was secretly heartbroken when he could think only of Q. There had been Alec Trevelyan, virtually the only person he had been able to call a friend, but uncontrollable circumstances had forced James to kill him. Following that incident, 007 had vowed to trust no man. But he did not feel comfortable sharing that information with Buffy.  
  
"Come on," the blonde-haired image in glass said, as if reading his mind. "I just poured out a giant punchbowl of my heart for you. Talk to me . . . please."  
  
"It's not that simple," James said. "I can't just warm up to people the way you can. I can't be like a cat and rub up against a stranger's leg, purring like a mindless fool. It takes just a little bit more than that."  
  
Buffy was stung. "'A-A mindless fool'?" she repeated.  
  
Giles, who had been watching and listening to them, remembered when Buffy herself had been unwilling to place her confidence in anyone, unwilling to rely on people who wanted to help her. She and James were alike in that respect, but were worlds apart in most others. The girl had discovered at a very young age that friends were one of life's greatest treasures. James was still learning. He needed more time.  
  
However, to let people live life at their own pace was one thing he could not teach her, and so Giles decided that his assistance would not be required that night. Very quietly, he left his chair, retrieved his coat, and crept out the back door of the magic shop, never disturbing the tense atmosphere of the room with his movements.  
  
"What do you mean by saying that?" Buffy demanded. "I can't believe you! I try to be nice, and I try to make you feel welcome here, and you just keep--"  
  
"It's not a give-and-take!" James shot back, turning to face her. "Just because you told me your whole INSANE life story doesn't obligate me to do the same for you! Not everyone you choose to be nice to is going to return the favour!"  
  
"So that's why you choose not to be nice to *anyone*," Buffy said sharply.  
  
"I trust no one," James said. His voice was lower, but not softer. "If you don't trust anyone, you don't get hurt. If you don't get hurt . . . you're invincible."  
  
Buffy looked back at him.  
  
"If that's true," she said, "if that's really your philosophy on life . . . then you're missing out."  
  
"In my trade the most important thing is to stay alive. Everything else is trivial."  
  
"Well, I'll let you in on a little secret. While you're out there trying to stay alive, your life is just passing you by! The ONE thing you're trying to defend by refusing to open up to anyone is slipping away, and you don't even notice. There are people out there who want to help you. I know. I'm one of them."  
  
"You don't even know me."  
  
"That doesn't mean *anything*. No matter how egotistical and stuffy you are, you're still a person. And believe me, that's more than I can say for a LOT of the things in this town. So, just listen . . . I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to push you like that. You don't have to let me in just yet . . . or ever, if that's the kind of kick you're on. I *know* we can help each other. You've heard what this diamond can do, and call me crazy, but it doesn't seem like the kind of case you're used to. If we can . . . like Giles said, be civil, I know we can find this thing and get you out of here. That's what you want, isn't it?"  
  
James frowned. "It would appear that I'm not the *only* one who wants that."  
  
"Yeah . . . um, sorry about that. Just letting off steam. I'm sure you can understand that. So what do you say? Can we work together on this?"  
  
Buffy hesitantly extended her hand.  
  
James looked at her hand, and then into her pleading young eyes. He could not help but be moved by her kindness and tenacity, and it was with great reluctance that he decided to accept the proposal of an alliance.  
  
Honestly, he thought. My work is never done.  
  
"Whatever I can do to help you, miss," he sighed, grasping her hand.  
  
She smiled. "None of that 'miss' stuff," she said. "Just call me Buffy."  
  
James grinned in spite of himself.  
  
"Buffy," he said. 


	6. Room For Squares

Story Title: "Tonight and the Rest of My Life"  
  
Author: La Vie Boheme96  
  
Chapter Title: Room For Squares  
  
  
  
A gentle knocking came at the door of Xander's apartment. As was the custom when he had unexpected visitors, he almost silently crept to the door, picked up the frying pan that was always handy on a small table to the right of the doorframe, and said, "Who is it?"  
  
From the sofa, Anya looked up and frowned.  
  
"Tell them to go away," she said.  
  
"It's Willow and Tara!" said the familiar voice of a well-known redhead from out in the hallway.  
  
"Oh!"  
  
Xander pulled the door open, and Willow's eyes were drawn questioningly to the frying pan in his hand.  
  
Xander bit his lower lip. "Heh - heh," he chuckled. "It's, ah . . . it's for smiting the evil when it comes to my house."  
  
"Clever!" Willow chirped, humoring him. "But whaddaya do when the evil's not a cartoon?"  
  
The young man blushed ever so slightly.  
  
"Well, uh . . . then I make omelettes."  
  
When Xander invited Willow and Tara into the apartment, Anya greeted them with a brusque, "Go home."  
  
"Oh, a-are we interrupting something?" said Tara.  
  
"I don't mind if you guys hang out," said Xander, perpetually the gracious host.  
  
"But you said we were gonna get it on," Anya briskly reminded her boyfriend.  
  
"I *so* did not say 'get it on,'" he quickly explained to the other girls.  
  
"Oh, we believe you," said Tara with a little bob of her head.  
  
"Well, have a seat," Xander offered, gesturing to the sofa and chairs in the living room. The two visitors took either of the chairs adjacent to the sofa, and Xander sat beside Anya, who still appeared mildly irate.  
  
"I thought you had that big test to study for, Will," Xander said.  
  
"Well, I did, but I couldn't stop thinking about the whole diamond situation," Willow replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "We just wanted to see if maybe you guys were trying to figure out how to find it, which clearly you're not, 'cause I guess Anya has somethin' ELSE on her mind."  
  
"Yeah," Tara agreed. "We assumed Buffy might need a little help."  
  
"She HAS help," Anya said, as though Tara was supposed to know that.  
  
"Well, obviously Giles," said Xander.  
  
"That's not who I mean. It's some other British guy, and he's very attractive."  
  
Xander gave Anya a dangerous look in response to her last remark, and then chose to address her previous statements. "Another English guy?" he said. "Huh. I wonder what attracts the Brits to Sunnydale? Is there some secret underground scone industry here that I know nothing about?"  
  
"Is he from the Watchers' Council?" Willow inquired of Anya.  
  
"Don't think so. He just seemed like a regular guy. A regular, nicely- dressed, very tasty-looking guy."  
  
"Okay, am I not sitting RIGHT here?" said Xander.  
  
"Well, it looks like Buffy made a new friend," Tara noted.  
  
"Yeah," Willow pouted. "Why would she want help from a guy she's known for three seconds, and not from us?"  
  
"Who's to say she's known him for three seconds?" countered Xander. "Besides, she must have a reason. In the meantime I still think we should do our part."  
  
"Right," said Anya dutifully. "Xander, let's go look for the diamond in your bed."  
  
Xander gave her a withering glare.  
  
"Tempting as that sounds," he said, "I think we should start looking in a place where we'll have more than a zero percent chance of finding it. But, honestly . . . your ferret-like anxiety is truly touching."  
  
"Hey, Buffy would want us to leave no stone unturned! We'll check under the blankets, and then we'll look under your clothes."  
  
"Right. I'm sure that's exactly what Willow and Tara need to see right now."  
  
Tara smiled shyly and glanced down at the carpet.  
  
Willow smiled as well. "Yeah, I would be so happy if you left that particular stone turned until just a little bit later."  
  
Anya sighed heavily. "Okay," she said, defeated. "You're right, I'm sorry. Can I help? The not-fun way?"  
  
"Well, there's really nothing we can do except get out there and look, right?" said Tara.  
  
"Yeah," nodded Xander. "We can't exactly head out the door with a big master plan."  
  
"Great. THAT'S how I wanna spend my Saturday," Anya muttered sarcastically. "Looking for a special, magical diamond. I'll tell you one thing, Xander, there's only ONE kind of diamond *I* want right now."  
  
Xander's head whipped around and he gaped at her, his eyes like those of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming sport utility vehicle.  
  
"W-*What* ?" he stammered.  
  
"Oh, my God!" Anya gasped, sounding just as surprised. "Did I say that out loud?" 


	7. Where I Fall

Story Title: Tonight and the Rest of My Life  
  
Author: La Vie Boheme96  
  
Chapter Title: "Where I Fall"  
  
Author's Note: Much to my surprise, I have recently received a smattering of new reviews and e-mails in regards to this story, each asking that Tonight and the Rest of My Life not be left to languish here unfinished. I'm tempted to finally complete it because of those requests, the fact that I am free to let my creative mind flourish this summer, and in the wake of the series finale of Buffy. And so it's with hope in my heart that I add another chapter to this saga, and that those of you who contacted me continue to graciously bear with me. Thank you, and enjoy. :-)  
  
***  
  
"Pull over here," Buffy commanded.  
  
James obliged, bringing his brand-new, doubtlessly ill-fated BMW up against the crumbling curb of the dark, deserted sidewalk.  
  
"This is where we'll start looking," the Slayer said, nodding in the direction of the sprawling Shady Hill Cemetery up ahead. She unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of the car, closing the door very softly. This was primarily to avoid drawing unwanted attention to herself and her companion, but also because it seemed risky to do otherwise in the case of such a magnificent vehicle. James too shut the driver's side door gently behind him, but whereas Buffy was concerned with their own safety, he was worried about scaring away potential jewel thieves. He pulled his suit jacket open to be certain that his gun was accessible in its shoulder holster. Buffy's sharp eye caught this motion.  
  
"That won't do you much good around here," she said, shaking her head. She plucked a sharp, wooden stake out of her coat and offered it to him. "Know how to use one of these?"  
  
"I think I can manage," James drawled, accepting the stake.  
  
"Don't be so sure. That's what I though, too; in the movies it only looks easy. It took me about two weeks of non-stop slayage to finally get the hang of it. And you gotta get 'em in the heart--the first time. Catch one in the shoulder and all you'll have is a really pissed-off vamp with a hole in its shirt."  
  
James grinned and twirled the stake in his hand. "Yes," he said, "I believe I've seen 'Dracula.'"  
  
Buffy bristled at the mention of the name.  
  
"Me, too," she said, barely audible.  
  
"So tell us why you've decided that this would be a good place to begin searching?" said James as he and Buffy passed through the rotting gates of the gloomy cemetery.  
  
"Vamps nest here sometimes," she explained. She warily surveyed their surroundings.  
  
"What brings you to think a simple vampire would be clever enough to make good use of the Karlotte diamond?"  
  
"Don't ask questions, Jim," Buffy replied, surging with confidence. "Granted, I've met my share of vampires with lone kernels of candy corn for brains, but they're nothing like the goons you're used to taking down. They're hunters.smarter than I care to let on."  
  
"Yes, of course. I'm now aware, Buffy, that our lives are very different. I really don't think I can stand another lecture."  
  
"No lecturing here," Buffy said with a shrug of her shoulders. "I'm just looking."  
  
"As am I."  
  
"Well, don't let your guard down."  
  
When she saw the exhausted look James gave her, she frowned and quickly added, "Yeah, I know you know." She cleared her throat. "Do you wanna split up?" she asked hopefully.  
  
"Marvelous idea," James said, stopping between two rows of tombstones, letting his piercing gaze sweep the landscape. "I'll take the east, yes?"  
  
"Uh, sure," said Buffy, looking both to her left and to her right. "The east. You know, whichever way that is. We'll meet at that mausoleum over there either after a half-hour or when one of us finds something. Whatever comes first. Sound good?"  
  
Once more he glimpsed the stake in his hand, and sighed. "If that's what you wish, then yes. I suppose I can trust your judgment."  
  
"You can. And if I told you to be careful, would you give me another weird look?"  
  
James only smiled at her, and walked away towards the eastern quarter of the cemetery.  
  
Buffy stared after him, somewhat discouraged. Just when she thought that the two of them had finally mended their differences and learned to effectively work together, she still got the impression that he believed her incapable of doing her own job. Well, maybe he didn't think her incapable.it was more a classic case of, "anything you can do, I can do better." Yes, James certainly appeared to be under the assumption that he could outdo the Chosen One when it came to slaying demons and otherworldly creatures. Buffy would show him that that was completely impossible.  
  
//Yeah, I'll show him what's what,// she thought, grinning to herself.  
  
James set upon the paved road that wove through the graveyard, staying close to the edge in case a car might come bearing a man, or a woman, or a family wishing to visit the tomb of a deceased loved one. Even at that hour such a thing was not entirely improbable. James stopped briefly and glanced at his wristwatch, the one he admired for its ability to do so much more than just tell time. It was almost eleven o'clock; he would rendezvous with Buffy at the mausoleum she had indicated at about 11:25. Or, if he got bored, 11:20.  
  
As he walked, James paused periodically to examine the headstones of the dearly departed. Morbid? Perhaps. But every moment he spent in Sunnydale he grew ever more curious about the town, and he decided he would investigate anything that would provide him with additional information. One thing he discovered was that much of the dead had passed at a very young age. They had likely been students in either high school or college. Sixteen years old, eighteen, twenty-one.maybe some of the deaths had been the result of natural causes, but such abundance could only lead James to speculate that the murder rate in Sunnydale was indeed, as Buffy had told him, stratospheric. It was a pity, and the infamously glacial secret agent was moved... if just barely.  
  
James looked up from the grave marker of a fifteen-year-old girl who had died not even two weeks ago and saw a massive stone crypt whose door stood slightly ajar. He thought he heard sounds coming from inside, sounds that were unmistakably those made by people excitedly chattering. He smirked, silently approached the crypt at its western wall, and listened. The voices were loud and raucous, but James could not at all understand what they were saying.  
  
//Goodness, how I hate to be left in the dark,// he thought, still smiling. //I suppose I'll just have to interrupt their little party, then.//  
  
Buffy, who had as of that moment had found exactly the equivalent of nothing, stood at the bottom of the hill watching James' tall, catlike form slink through the darkness towards the crypt.  
  
//Just look at him,// Buffy thought resentfully. //I wonder what he's up to now?// It bothered her to think that he might actually find something before she did.  
  
James felt ridiculous with a stake clutched in his hand as he soundlessly approached the opened door of the crypt. He wished there was another, less obvious way to enter the tomb, but he would have to simply make do with his only option. It did not really matter, because whatever people--or demons-- that lay in wait behind the door suspected not a thing and continued to jabber on and on like auctioneers about God only knew what. James slipped his hand between the crypt's granite wall the steel door, and pulled the latter open more so.  
  
//Uh-oh.he's got something.// Buffy continued to observe his shadow's movements against the backdrop of the dark night sky. She quickly corrected herself, however, when she saw what looked like a hand shoot out of the crypt, grab James' necktie, and pull him inside.  
  
//Or... rather... something's got him.// With that, she sprinted up the hill as fast as its steepness would allow her.  
  
There were four of them.maybe five. Concentrating solely on staying alive, he could not be absolutely sure. They were terribly strong. He did not think he had ever come across anything with such shocking, brutal strength... surely no human he encountered had inflicted such pain with a single punch. He punched back just as hard in the direction from which the blow had come, and was pleased when he struck cold, bloodless skin. The vampire stumbled backward out the door, opening it yet more and permitting blessed moonlight to pour into the dank crypt. Now that their hearts were in plain sight, there was no hope for them.  
  
Knife-like claws ripped through his suit and into his shoulder. He replied by using all his energy to drive jagged wood into dead flesh and tissue, and that particular vampire would not cause him trouble again. As for the other two... no, three....  
  
Buffy saw the vamp stagger out of the crypt as if punched or kicked and wondered if maybe James was doing all right. The creature was about to reenter the crypt when he spotted Buffy, naturally the greater and more delicious prize, running at breakneck speed up the hill.  
  
"I don't presume that you fellows could tell me anything about the Karlotte diamond?" panted James, always a gentleman, burying his foot in the chest of an oncoming vampire. When another threw a punch at him, he caught the thing by the wrist, which he promptly broke.  
  
"Now, now, was that really necessary?" he teased, grinning tiredly. "All you had to say was no." He dusted the vampire just as the other was recovering.  
  
The creature that had tried--and failed, miserably--to attack Buffy was also dust in a matter of seconds. She noticed another dash out of the crypt. Their eyes met.  
  
//He knows something,// Buffy thought.  
  
The vampire ran for its life in the opposite direction. The Slayer chased it a few yards beyond the crypt, but gave up, deciding that the worthless piece of Hellmouth trash did not rank about James' safety on her priority list at the moment.  
  
She ran back to the entrance of the crypt, where James stood searching frantically around him for the vampire that got away. He looked a mess, but aside from the blood that reddened his shoulder, he appeared to be unhurt.  
  
"He got away," Buffy told him, referencing the vamp.  
  
James' face fell in disappointment. "Damn," he huffed, his chest heaving with each deep breath he took.  
  
"Are you all right? How many were there?"  
  
"Well, I'm not certain, but I managed to kill three," James said, ignoring her first question.  
  
"You mean... you staked them?" Buffy said, unable to hide her surprise.  
  
The British agent coughed. "Yes," he said, smiling at Buffy. He tossed her the stake, which she instinctively caught. "It took you two weeks to learn how to do that?"  
  
Buffy's blood boiled. She was impressed with his fighting prowess, yes, but not even the promise of a normal life would bring her to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. She also hid her anger, for even that would clue him in to the fact that he was really getting to her.  
  
"We should get your shoulder patched up," she said through her teeth.  
  
James only seemed to just notice that his left shoulder was torn and bleeding, which irked Buffy yet more. "Hmm!" he said, turning his head to scrutinize the injury. "It does sting a bit," he told Buffy, which was an understatement. In reality the wound felt like it was on fire.  
  
"Can you drive?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Even if I can't, the car will take us where we need to go."  
  
"Which is where?"  
  
"It's your town, Buffy. Tell me."  
  
Buffy had earlier on had a thought, and now braced herself for what she was about to suggest.  
  
"I think," she said very slowly,"that you should come to my house. And stay there. Until all this is over."  
  
James regarded her with the utmost surprise.  
  
"It makes sense," Buffy continued, each word catching in her throat. "If I need you at any time during the day, I'll know where to find you. We'll save ourselves a lot of time and grief. And gas, for that matter. What do you say to that?"  
  
"Well... I would have to drive to a hotel in the next town to pick up my things, but.if you have no objections," James said, caught more off guard by this proposition than by the existence of vampires.  
  
"Jim, would I be asking you if I had any objections?" Buffy said as if being tortured.  
  
James began walking towards the gates of the cemetery, and Buffy followed, her footsteps plodding into the grass as she turned her decision over and over in her mind.  
  
"I suppose," he said, "that it would be for the best."  
  
"I'm glad you think so. Because I'm gonna kick myself tonight and every night for the rest of my life." 


	8. Wouldn't It Be Nice

It happened that James was in fact able to operate his car. Buffy admired his resiliency; that shoulder wound could easily have taken down a lesser mortal, and yet James was perfectly hardy despite being free of the extraordinary touch of the supernatural. Buffy's power came from a place beyond earthly control, and not even she was sure that she would ever completely understand it, but James was fully human and acquired his strength and expertise, undoubtedly, through rigorous lessons and guidance. The key difference between them was that Buffy had been born a Slayer, born a hunter. She was never "normal." It seemed likely to her that James had been, at one point, and that all of this hot air about spies and high-tech weaponry had been programmed into his brain over a great many years. Buffy wondered briefly what it must be like to be in that line of work, but quickly decided that she would never want to have to do it herself; at least she was able to maintain her personality when she began her training as the Slayer.  
  
The wounded spy parked the BMW in front of Buffy's home. The two of them climbed out onto the street and Buffy strode up the walk to her front porch without waiting for James, pulling her keys out of her pocket and opening the door quietly, in case she might be in danger of waking either her sister or her mother.  
  
James watched her slip into the house, and sighed lightly. From the backseat he removed two suitcases which he had retrieved from the hotel outside of town, and with the push of a button located on his key ring, his car was equipped with an electric security shield. He doubted very much, though, that the vampires in the area were actively engaged in auto theft. He followed Buffy into the house and closed the door softly behind him. Instinctively, he locked it.  
  
He saw a shadow milling about the darkened living room--Buffy, tossing her coat onto a chair. He cleared his throat hoping that the girl would acknowledge him, for he felt rather idle standing at the door. But at that moment both of them became aware of a light on in the kitchen.  
  
"Mom?" said Buffy, walking past James and towards the light.  
  
"Oh, honey! I'm glad you're home."  
  
James, always a gracious guest, uselessly stood waiting for a word from his hostess. He could hear Buffy and her mother chatting two rooms away.  
  
"Were you out patrolling?" Joyce asked.  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"How did it go? Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine. And it was all right. Not very productive, but I took down a vamp or three."  
  
James expressed supreme surprise. Not only did Buffy's mother know about her daughter's lifestyle, and not only did she seem to approve of it, but they discussed it as they would a date.  
  
"Speaking of which, Mom, there's somebody I'd like you to meet."  
  
Even before Buffy said his name, James took that comment as his cue to enter the kitchen. She had hardly pronounced the "B" in Bond when he suddenly appeared beside her.  
  
Buffy frowned. She didn't know why.  
  
"James, this is my mother... Mom, this is James."  
  
"I.... oh!" said Joyce. She gave her daughter a wide-eyed look. "Please tell me this isn't a boyfriend so I can ward off the aneurysm."  
  
"It's a delight, Mrs. Summers," James said cordially, with a grin and a shallow bow of his head. Joyce smiled.  
  
//This can't be a boyfriend of Buffy's,// she thought with relief. //He's wearing a suit.//  
  
"Well, it's very nice to meet you too!" she said, enthralled by this swarthy, cultured man. "You're aware, of course, of the shoulder, and the bleeding."  
  
"Ah, yes. It's quite all right, though; you needn't worry." But Joyce was already examining the severity of the injury at a closer distance.  
  
"It looks like Buffy's gotten you into trouble with her slaying," she said pleasantly, in a 'what am I going to do with her' tone. But all of a sudden she gasped as a hand flew to her mouth, and she glanced over at Buffy, who laughed lightly.  
  
"It's all right, Mom. He knows."  
  
"Oh! Good," Joyce said, letting out a relieved sigh. "I know how secretive you are about... that kind of thing."  
  
"Yes, I'm very much aware that your daughter is of a rather special nature," James said. The hint of a smirk that played on his lips made it difficult for Buffy to tell whether or not he meant that as a compliment.  
  
"You have *no* idea. Now... may I ask how you and Buffy came to know each other? Are you a friend of Mr. Giles?"  
  
"Um, no, Mom," Buffy interjected. "If we could all sit down in the living room, I can explain everything."  
  
"Well, now, wait a minute, Buffy! I'm sure James here could use a minute or two to catch his breath. I say we get some bandages on his shoulder and then maybe a hot cup of coffee."  
  
"Why, yes," James said with a grin. "That would be delightful."  
  
"Why don't you come upstairs, James."  
  
They were already making small talk by the time they began climbing the staircase, and Buffy was left alone there in the kitchen, the makings of a scowl beginning to wrench at her mouth. But she took a deep, calm breath and commenced fixing a pot of coffee, so that it would be ready when Joyce and James came back downstairs. Suddenly, her mother's laugh rang out like wind chimes. Buffy, startled, looked up towards the ceiling. It was then that all kinds of horrible thoughts started to pervade her sometimes overly active imagination. With seriously wide eyes she stood back and watched the coffee brew. Each drop of liquid into the pot below punctuated her musings as her mind ran rampant.  
  
She imagined that the friendly conversation taking place upstairs in the bathroom was just the beginning. Joyce would soon fall prey to James' wily charms and they would be dating before Buffy could think to protest. *Drip.* What if he moved to Sunnydale after this case was solved? He would see Joyce all the time... they'd fall in love... oh, God, what if they fell in love? *Drip.* Then got married in some spectacular ceremony that garnered countywide attention? James looked like he had the money finance it. *Drip.* He would have to move into their house. He would be there every day. He would never LEAVE. *Drip. Drip.* He would take Buffy's friends and sister out for spins in his car every weekend, and they would go slaying together, and he would let them use his gun, and they would all say, 'Hey, this guy's a lot cooler than Buffy!' and Dawn would say, 'Yeah! Buffy never let me handle dangerous firearms!'  
  
*Drip. Drip. Drip.*  
  
//Oh, for the love of God,// Buffy thought with panicked revulsion. //This is not happening!//  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
"No!" she cried, whirling around. Joyce and James stood in the kitchen doorway, regarding her with curiosity. Where she could once see blood and torn skin through the holes ripped into the tattered fabric of James' shirt, she could now see only bright white gauze.  
  
"I'm sorry, is Buffy not your name anymore?" Joyce asked her with a somewhat bemused grin, as she ambled over to the cupboard to retrieve three ceramic mugs, which she set down on the counter. "Is everything all right?"  
  
"What? Yes! Yes, everything is... fine. I put the coffee on! See? The coffee is... it's on."  
  
"I noticed!"  
  
"So... um... what did you guys talk about?"  
  
"Oh, James was just telling me the funniest story about his job. Honestly," Joyce said, putting the cream and sugar out on the counter, "if *those* are the kinds of people you have to put up with, I don't think I could ever be an accountant."  
  
Buffy glanced at James. She tilted her head to the side inquisitively. He regarded her innocently, and with that smirk that seemed permanently affixed to his face. So, they had something else in common; both were obligated to keep their true identities top secret and to live their lives from excuse to excuse, protected by a savvy shield of clever cover stories.  
  
Well, not under this roof. Not when the people Buffy cared about most were in danger.  
  
"Mom, James is a secret agent."  
  
James shot her a sharp, indignant glare as Joyce turned from the coffee mugs she was casually filling at the counter. "Hmm?" she said.  
  
"Sorry, Jim," said Buffy, "but I can't have any secrets around here. Not now. Things are pretty precarious what with the diamond missing, and I want my mom and my sister to know that they can go to you if trouble comes calling."  
  
"I'm sorry, what?" Joyce said firmly, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back against the counter. "What's going on *now*?"  
  
Buffy braved multiple interjections from James as she explained the latest peril come to Sunnydale to her mother. She also told her where James himself factored into all of it, and how the situation would be far less complicated if he were able to stay in their house.  
  
"So what do you think?" Buffy said.  
  
"Well!" huffed Joyce, placing a hand over her heart. "That's a lot of information to get in ten minutes."  
  
"Not that I'm dying to have him around, but it would really help the cause."  
  
"Now, Buffy, if you don't have anything nice to say--"  
  
"I'm not sure I do. But I really think that he could help out in a way that some of the others may not be able to. I need him here."  
  
"I see. In that case," Joyce said, "I don't see why we can't show him how hospitable Americans can be. He can even sleep in my room. I don't mind the sofa."  
  
"Oh! No, no, please!" James said, taking a step forward, holding his hands up in protest. "I simply won't have it. I can't deprive you of your own bed."  
  
"Of course you can! You're our guest, and it's a sacrifice I insist on making."  
  
"But--"  
  
"I don't want to hear another word! Now, Buffy, would you like to take James's suitcases up to my room?"  
  
Buffy gave James a mildly reproachful stare, and then looked with a softened expression at her mother.  
  
"Gosh, I'd sure love to," she said with a mirthless smile.  
  
"Oh, really, I don't think that will be necessary," James said, leaning down to pick up his bags. But Buffy was far too quick. She plunged down, yanked them up off the floor, spun around, and stomped up the stairs. At the threshold of the bedroom she propelled the door open with her foot. She drew her arms back and flung both the bags clear across the room at Joyce's bed. Of course she had once again underestimated her own strength; the cases skittered across the blanket's smooth surface, over the edge of the bed, finally thudding onto the hardwood floor.  
  
"Dammit," muttered Buffy in frustration. She walked to the other side of the bed and found that the briefcase had fallen open upon striking the floor.  
  
//Huh,// she thought. //You'd think a big mysterious secret agent guy could get his people to update the security features on this stuff.//  
  
She bent to retrieve the loose sheets that had fluttered out of the case, and then her curiosity overthrew her usually commanding sense of better judgment. With the sheets sifted in an organized pile, she began to read into the details of James's mission.  
  
"Agent Zero-Zero-Seven," she said aloud, enjoying herself somewhat. "Hey, he comes with a number. Wonder if he's part of a set."  
  
Further reading proved that James *was* in town to search for and recover the missing Karlotte family diamond, not that Buffy had doubted the man's icy, business-like, no-nonsense demeanor in the first place.  
  
"Hmm. Bored now," she announced to the empty room. The documents were extremely dense and revealed nothing beyond what she knew already. She stuffed the papers back into the briefcase. She was about to close it when the light from the bedside lamp caused a glossy, black-and-white, eight-by- ten photograph to flicker inside.  
  
"Ooh! Please be interesting."  
  
She plucked the picture from the case, and the reaction was immediate. Her heart dropped straight into her feet.  
  
"Oh my God," she gasped.  
  
She flipped the picture over with quivering hands. When she read the words scrawled on the back in the careless, haphazard handwriting of a man in a hurry, her chest tightened as if all the air were being sucked out of her lungs by a vacuum:  
  
"Alexander LaVelle Harris, age 18." 


End file.
